Maybe kidnapping her had been the best move he’d ever made, he thought, and took off his costume while he was still in the van so he could stop at the grocery store and buy her some flowers.
It was so cold. When she’d first left the house, Latisha had embraced the damp, chilly weather. That and a surge of adrenaline had helped clear her mind of the cobwebs left from the alcohol and the pills. But now she wished she’d taken a blanket from the bedroom. She didn’t have a coat. It had been bright and sunny the day she and Marcie had gone to buy doughnuts-and wound up in Wesley Boss’s van. Because they hadn’t planned on being away for longer than thirty minutes and had the car heater to take the edge off the sixty-degree weather, they hadn’t thought they’d need coats. And Wesley had bought them clothes but no outerwear.
Now Latisha’s hands and feet were so numb she couldn’t feel them. And her wet clothes-the new ones she’d got at the mall-clung to her, making her legs feel heavier and heavier as the rain continued. She would’ve been okay if the cold was all she had to contend with, but she didn’t feel well. She’d hoped the vomiting would get the drugs out of her system, but being sick made her even more light-headed.
Headlights appeared around a bend not far away. Latisha had been careful to stick to the road. It was her escape to the world outside the farmhouse where she’d been held hostage, her best chance of getting help. But it also presented the greatest risk of getting caught by Wesley when he came home.
Hurrying into the brush, she squatted down, out of sight, while waiting for the vehicle to pass. She’d checked under the mattress for his gun, but it was gone, which meant he’d taken it with him.
As the vehicle zipped by, she realized those headlights didn’t belong to a van. It was some kind of car. She should’ve flagged down the driver and would have done so if she’d known…
Tears blurred her vision as she lurched back to the pavement. She hated feeling that he could come upon her at any moment. But she was afraid to leave the road for fear she’d end up lost or run into a vicious animal or even a loose dog. She’d been hoping to find another house, but she hadn’t seen any lights.
Her shivering grew more violent as the minutes ticked by. Was she traveling toward town or farther into the country?
The thought that she might have to be out all night tempted her to go back to the house and retrieve a blanket, or layer up with the rest of her clothes. Maybe she’d have a better chance of getting away if she didn’t feel as if she might freeze to death…
But Gloria’s message kept her moving forward: Marcie’s dead. And that man killed her.
Wes was a murderer. But was it true that he used to be a cop? Was it true that his wife and son had been killed? That he was hunting the man who did it? If so, she felt sorry about the tragedy that had twisted him. But he was the one who’d ended her sister’s life. Gloria said so, and Gloria was always right-wasn’t she?
Suddenly, Latisha stopped. Gloria always thought she was right. But what if this was one instance where she was wrong? What if Wes had dropped Marcie off as he’d said, and someone else had killed her? In her attempt to get home, Marcie could’ve thumbed a ride with someone dangerous. She was probably frantic, not thinking straight. And there could be another explanation for that fire in the barrel and the blood on Wes’s shoes. I didn’t even ask him about those things. Maybe what she’d found wasn’t really blood. She’d been jumping to conclusions. She’d automatically thought the worst.
Sinking into the brush along the shoulder of the road, she curled up for warmth. Was she abandoning the man she loved? Or saving her life? She wasn’t sure. She was too cold and sick to decide-and too cold and sick to care. She didn’t think she had the strength to go any farther.
Another set of headlights appeared, these a little higher than those of the previous car. As the sound of the engine grew louder, Latisha knew before she ever saw the van that it was Wesley.
“Anything?” Jane asked. She’d just hung up after speaking to David. She’d called to let him know what Luther had told her.
Sebastian peeled off his coat and draped it on the back of a kitchen chair. “No.”
She gave him a saucy look. “Well…I got a tip while you were gone.”
Now that it was getting late, he was beginning to think about bed. And these days, whenever he thought about bed, he thought about Jane…
His gaze lingered on the opening of her robe, and he wondered if she’d let him slip his hand inside. “Who from?”
She placed her fingers under his chin, bringing his attention up to her eyes. “A pimp.”
“You know a pimp?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
“Latisha’s dad. We seem to be friends now. At least, our relationship is improving.”
He backed her against the counter, grinning as she glanced behind him to check that the coast was clear. He had a feeling they might end up in the bathroom again tonight. “Glad to hear you’re winning him over,” he said. “What’d he tell you?”
“Malcolm is driving a white van. Luther couldn’t give me the license-plate number, but he’s got everyone he knows keeping an eye out.”
“And how would a pimp know what kind of vehicle Malcolm is driving?”
“Gambling isn’t Malcolm’s only vice.”
Moving his lower body against hers, he bent his head until their lips were a fraction of an inch apart. “Is Kate in bed?”
“That’s your next question?”
“Were we talking about something else?”
She laughed, then their lips met-right before Kate spoke from the entrance to the kitchen. Jane stiffened, but Sebastian felt that scrambling away from each other would only imply that they were doing something wrong. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he turned to face her daughter as if it wasn’t any big deal that she’d caught them kissing.
“What did you say?” he asked Kate.
“Nothing,” she mumbled with a furious blush and hurried back down the hall.
“I think she’s on to us,” he told Jane, keeping his voice light.
She pulled away from him, her expression more concerned than amused. “I think so, too.”
Malcolm couldn’t believe it. Latisha was gone.
He stood in the bedroom doorway, holding his stupid flowers and gaping at the bed where he’d left her. He’d never dreamed she’d wake up so soon. He’d given her only one sleeping pill, but with all the booze he hadn’t thought she’d need more than that. She weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet!